


Come As You Are

by Mosca



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2015 World Figure Skating Championships, Drag Queens, Friends to Lovers, Genderplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:12:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mosca/pseuds/Mosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh is representing the USA at the annual post-Worlds drag ball, and suddenly, Jason is glad he decided to go, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come As You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lovessong for the beta! 
> 
> This fic contains: drinking that leads to sex; people drinking who are underage in their home country but of legal age in the country where this takes place; lots of men in drag; straight men in drag, some of whom are jerks about it; casual homophobia from minor characters; exploration of gender issues, only some of it earnest; bubbles.
> 
> Alas, the post-Worlds drag ball is canon only in my own head, although I mention it enough on Tumblr that some people have mistaken it for reality.

Jason was going to skip the post-Worlds drag ball, but at the gala rehearsal, Javi insists that’s unacceptable. “It’s tradition,” Javi says. “You don’t have to wear a dress, only to show up.”

“But you’re dressing up?” Jason says, struggling to imagine how that will look.

“There isn’t nobody else to represent Spain,” Javi says. “And Yuzuru, he’ll do it too. He will enter any contest, if he thinks he can win.”

Jason can’t put his finger on why the drag ball bothers him so much. The skaters have been putting it on for years, as a way to blow off steam after the closing banquet and a chance to say goodbye to the season and to each other. At the Olympics, Jeremy - a former drag ball champion - told Jason all about it, and Jason laughed at the stories and pictures like he wasn’t cringing inside. Maybe it’s all the straight guys who participate, some half-assed and ironic, others a little too committed and seductively convincing. Maybe it’s all the times when, growing up, Jason was mistaken for a girl because of his hair. Either way, he’s going to get over his issues and smile, because that strategy gets him through most uncomfortable situations.

The banquet is over by eight o’clock, and by 8:15 Jason is out of his suit and back in his uniform of t-shirt, jeans, fleece vest, and gym shoes. He could plausibly tell everyone that he accidentally fell asleep, or he’s coming down with something, or even that he wanted to spend time with his family while they’re here. Zach, his roommate, said he and Madi were going out somewhere in the city, so attendance isn’t mandatory. But the longer Jason kills time, writing the final installment of his IceNetwork blog, the heavier those potential lies weigh in his stomach. 

At 9:45, he forces himself out of his desk chair. He can’t stand sitting in a silent hotel room alone any longer, anyway. As he’s leaving, he catches his own reflection in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door and thinks, _I can’t go to the ball like this._ He flicks on the bathroom light, brushes out his hair, parts it in the middle, and braids it into two pigtails. There - he’s making some kind of effort.

The drag ball will take place in a hospitality suite a few floors down, and in the elevator, Jason wonders who is paying for this. He gets his answer when one of the Canadian ice dancers demands 60 yuan at the door. “I mean, it’s not required,” she apologizes, “but it’s not like this is an official ISU event.”

Inside the room, a rolled-out black carpet divides two sets of rows of folding chairs. There’s a curtained-off area at one end of the carpet and a long, rectangular table at the other. Some skaters are milling around or claiming seats, but most are crowded around a table by the far wall, where Jeremy Ten, dressed in a black mesh shirt and tons of eyeliner, is mixing drinks. Jason spots a few people who are probably dressed to compete, but most of the guys are in normal clothes, save perhaps for a little makeup. Before Jason can decide whether alcohol would make him feel even more dubious, someone in a blue wig waves him over to a seat in the back row.

It’s Josh. Jason’s heart stops for a moment. Then, he gathers himself together and sits down. “I, um… wow,” Jason says, and maybe he’s not as gathered together as he thought.

“Yeah, Adam was going to do it, but at breakfast today he said he didn’t want to shave his beard off, and I said maybe it would be fun, and it just sort of went from there. This is all his stuff except for the shoes, because his didn’t fit me. I’m lucky I have kind of small feet, and Shanghai’s a big city. I can walk in them but not stand in them, so here I am until the thing starts, I guess.” Josh shrugs and smiles, and it’s definitely him under the inch of foundation, the contours softening his nose and jaw, and the dramatic swoops of eye shadow. His boots are knee-high, with stiletto heels, and his sleeveless silver dress is short enough to reveal several inches of opaque black tights. His nails are painted the same turquoise blue as his wig, which is a shoulder-length bob with blunt-cut bangs.

“So Adam and Ashley did this?” Jason says. “Because they did a really good job.”

“Yeah, I think we all wanted a medal in _something,_ ” Josh says. 

Someone puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder from behind. Startled, Jason turns around to see Eric Radford, whose jeans and black button-down shirt make Jason feel much less alone. “Hey, do you want to be a judge?” Eric says. “We could use an American and another guy on the panel.”

Jason giggles awkwardly. “I don’t know, I mean, I have friends doing this, and -”

“Everybody has friends doing this,” Eric says. “I think you’ll be pretty fair, and not a dick about it, which is all you need.”

“That does put you ahead of most people,” Josh says.

“Okay,” Jason says, finding his smile. “Sure.”

Eric leads Jason to the long table at the foot of the runway and sets him up with a small dry-erase board, a marker, and a plastic cup of pink liquid. There’s so much vodka in the drink, it makes Jason cough, but it will also put him in exactly the right frame of mind. He’s sitting between Mae from France and Elena Ilinykh; the other judges, farther down, are a Chinese pairs skater and a Japanese ladies’ skater whose names Jason wishes he remembered. At the end of the table, Eric is leaning over Meagan Duhamel’s shoulder while they try to get her tablet to do something. When they’ve either solved the problem or given up, Eric motions for the judges to huddle. Speaking slowly and clearly to get past the language barrier, Eric says, “Give everyone a score between a 6.0 and a zero. Write it on your board and hold it up. Make sure Meagan sees it, because she’s keeping score. Don’t be afraid to give low scores, because some people are trying to come in last.” Elena laughs knowingly.

After a few more minutes, someone flashes the lights on and off. A herd of skaters shuffles from the bar to the seats, and the boys in dresses congregate behind the curtain as Kaitlyn and Andrew emerge from it with a microphone. Andrew’s in a red dress with lipstick to match, flip-flops, and hairy bare legs. Kaitlyn is wearing a white men’s dress shirt, a tie, black pumps, a drawn-on mustache, and apparently nothing else. “He won last year,” Elena whispers to Jason. “He is very good. Very tall, you know, in the shoes.” 

Kaitlyn and Andrew keep straight faces as they introduce the judges. Each judge stands up with their drink and says “Cheers” in their own language. Jason says “L’chayim,” because that feels right and because Eric already did it in English.

The participants have all chosen drag names, and the emcees are stumbling over the pronunciation, so it’s often hard to tell who Jason is looking at. He has to adjust his eyes, look past the makeup and wigs. He decides that’s a good metric to grade them on: how little do they look like themselves? Most are sheepish and wobbly, with stubble showing through their foundation, but giving it their best. A few - Russia and the Czech Republic in particular - are shooting for “no homo” irony in frumpy dresses and cockeyed wigs, which makes Jason cringe. Jason sees what Eric meant about people trying to come in last, and he gives them both 4.5s to prevent it. When he sees Javi, comically busted in a humongous curly 80s wig and mismatched shoes, his lips lined far beyond their natural boundaries, Jason holds up a 1.3. The other judges follow Jason’s lead, and Javi shakes his butt at the judges as he sashays back to the curtain. 

The only real contenders are Yuzuru, Josh, a Canadian ice dancer, and a guy from Denmark who Jason swears he has never seen before. The Canadian has been practicing his walk, and the Dane’s makeup is on point. Yuzuru is wearing a platinum-blonde beehive wig, a mountain of pink glitter eye shadow, and a floor-length iridescent pink ball gown with a hip-high slit. He’s almost too convincing, except that he trips twice. Jason feels he has no choice but to deduct a tenth for each stumble.

And then there’s Josh, a.k.a. Phoebe Colorado, tentative as he steps around the curtain but snapping into character as he begins his walk. The audience cheers, and Josh’s posture rises at their encouragement. When Josh stops and pivots at the end of the runway, Jason realizes that Josh really _is_ looking right at him - it’s the old confidence trick, looking at your coach or your mom as the music starts so everyone else becomes invisible. Jason lets his heart get ahead of his math skills and reveals Josh’s perfect score before Josh has completely left the runway. When Meagan reads off the scores, Jason learns that he’s not the only one to give a 6.0. 

The contestants line up on the runway while Meagan finishes tabulating scores. “Canada’s left boob is, um, going down,” Elena whispers to Jason. Sure enough, he’s more lopsided than Javi, who’s done it on purpose.

“Slipping,” Jason whispers back, assuming she’ll be pleased to learn the right word. “Going down is something else.” They pass the next few minutes giggling, looking at the Canadian, looking at each other, and giggling more. 

It gets worse when Andrew visibly mouths “Fix your tits” at the poor guy, whose boob sinks farther when he tries to adjust. Mercifully, Meagan passes the tablet with the scores to Kaitlyn, and the two of them get it together enough to announce the results. Javi comes in last, becoming Booger Queen Champion of 2015; he pumps his fist before curtsying and blowing kisses. The Canadian with the wardrobe malfunction comes in fourth, and the Danish dark horse snags a bronze medal made out of a credentials lanyard covered in candy wrappers. It’s down to Josh and Yuzuru, and everyone knows it. 

Andrew calls for a drumroll. “With a combined score of 35.50, the winner of the 2015 International Figure Skater Drag Championships is … Miss Phoebe Colorado of the United States of America.” Josh’s jaw drops. He’s the only one surprised. Whitney Houston’s version of “The Star-Spangled Banner” plays as Josh receives a tiara, sash, and wand, and the audience pelts him with plush toys. Yuzuru folds his arms and tries to look gracious. As the room gets noisy, Kaitlyn gets on the mic to remind everyone not to post any pictures or video of the event on the internet, not even on locked communities or Snapchat. 

With a winner crowned, house music thumps through the room, and Jeremy Ten rewards the judges with a second round of drinks before the audience can rush the bar. Elena scrunches up her nose when she tastes her cocktail. “This one is, um, more weak.”

“Maybe they didn’t buy enough vodka?” Jason says.

She shrugs. “Well, it’s free drinks. They have to pay.”

“Is that why you volunteered to judge?” Jason says. “For the free drinks?”

“Not at all,” Elena says. “I like to have a job, you know? And I enjoy it, the ones who work hard, it’s very beautiful.” She knocks her drink back so fast she spills an ice cube down her shirt. Another guy’s eyes might follow its wet trail, but Jason’s not really feeling the girl vibe tonight. “Come on, finish. I want to dance.”

“With _me?_ ”

“Why not?” There’s a pleading look in her eyes, like she needs someone safe to cling to. Jason is good at being that person. 

While Jason dances, he’s looking around for Josh, not with any intention of ditching Elena, just wanting the security of Josh’s presence. He’d think it would be easy to spot a guy in a blue wig and five-inch heels. He wonders if Josh has snuck out to the hall, if the crowded room is stressing him out like they often do before he competes. If he’s changing out of his dress, Jason’s heart will break. Josh makes such a beautiful fake girl.

A group of Russian boys crosses the dance floor, shouting as they pass. Elena scowls murderously. “They say there is too many gay judges this year,” she explains, although Jason wouldn’t have asked. “But more rude words.”

Jason rolls his eyes; he’s used to it. When he was a kid, he used to cry when people called him gay, but he’s grown mostly immune to negativity. If he were straight, he’d be some other person, someone less strong and determined, less compassionate.

“They meant it to me, not to you,” Elena says. 

“They’re mad that you’re dancing with me?”

“They’re mad because, um -” It sounds like she’d have trouble finding the words even in Russian. “They feel that they have to act this way or everybody thinks they are gay. I don’t agree, and they know.”

“They need to relax,” Jason says. “None of us want them anyway.”

“Also, they are mad because Javi won.”

Jason laughs. “Well, he won at losing.”

“He was so funny,” Elena says. “They have to work, you know, do more work, be more terrible drag queens.”

“Quiet, you’ll start a judging scandal,” Jason says.

Elena blows a kiss. “I start scandal everywhere.”

At the end of the song, Jason needs a drink of water and sets off to see if the bar has anything but vodka and pink stuff. On the way, he finally finds Josh, who is surrounded by admirers. Jason doesn’t want to interrupt, so he just congratulates Josh as he passes. But Josh turns from his fans and calls out, “Hey, Jason!”

“God, you were beautiful.” Jason’s words tumble out; he’s drunker than he realized.

“You gave me a six,” Josh says. “You could’ve deducted a tenth for something.” He doesn’t sound sober, himself. Miss Worlds must get free drinks, too, and there’s no dairy products in vodka.

“But you’re perfect,” Jason says. “So perfect.”

“Thank you,” Josh says so shyly that the music drowns him out.

“How are your feet?” Jason is struggling to be Josh’s friend and not the drunk idiot hitting on him. 

“Okay, actually. I think I figured out how to stand in these boots.” He tugs at the strap of his dress. “The corset’s the real problem. I’m starting to miss oxygen kind of a lot.”

“Good thing we train at altitude,” Jason says.

Josh laughs lightly, and his fake eyelashes flutter. A fantasy fleets into Jason’s mind, of running his hand up Josh’s thigh and under his skirt to untie the corset, and Jason wills himself, unsuccessfully, to stop getting hard.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be okay until the party winds down,” Josh says. “I mean, people are already starting to leave.”

Jason thought the party was booming, but Josh is right - it’s gotten a little sparse. People are tired from the competition, or they’re off to more private festivities. The drag ball has become an obligation as much as the official banquet. “Yeah, I bet you’re safe to leave pretty soon.”

“Have you seen Adam or Ashley anywhere?” Josh says. “I’ll need them to help me get out of this thing.”

“I haven’t. Maybe they cut out early?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Josh says. “They were literally placing bets on whether Adam could pick up one of the Chinese guys, and Ashley has her heart set on a straight boy in drag. I had to hear it for two hours. And I could tell, like, they were trying to get something out of me, but I just - I trust them with my makeup but not my secrets.”

Jason can’t tell if Josh trusts him more than that and can’t think of a way to ask. “Well, if you need help, let me know when you’re ready to go.”

Josh smiles so wide, he loses his balance and steadies himself on Jason’s shoulders. “That would be really, um, yes please. Thanks.”

It looks like Jason found the right way to ask, and the unexpected success flusters him. “Okay, well, I’m getting some water and then back to dance some more, so, you know, come find me.”

“Okay,” Josh says. “I will.”

Eric, who has taken over at the bar, gives Jason his water, along with a purple shot he is clearly not allowed to refuse. Eric raises his own cup of purple firewater and says, “Don’t leave that unattended for too long.”

“Leave what? Oh. Yeah, I just offered to help him out of his corset after, so … oh my God, that sounds so - I can’t believe I did that.”

Eric opens a cocktail shaker and fishes a handful of condoms out of it. He places two in Jason’s palm and says, “Go with God.”

Jason tucks the condoms into the pocket of his fleece. “You’re way more sure of this than I am.”

“It’s probably easier for me to see the way he looks at you,” Eric says. “And my random hookup days are over, so I need to cheer you on.”

“It’s not random,” Jason says. “I mean we’re not together or anything, but -”

“But after tonight you will be?”

“I don’t want to get ahead of myself,” Jason says, recognizing the outrageous lie for what it is. He wants to get so far ahead of himself that he gets lost.

Elena comes running up behind Jason and scares the breath out of him when she grabs his shoulders. “You take too long,” she scolds him. The room swims for a moment.

“Elena needs one of those purple things,” Jason says.

Eric raises an eyebrow at him but pours. Jason notices that he goes easy on the vodka.

“What is your cheers from judges’ table?” Elena says. “I like it.”

“L’chayim. It’s Hebrew.”

“La Hayum.” Elena messes up the pronunciation but takes her shot neatly. “Jason.” She grabs his hand like she’s about to tell him the most important thing in the world. “My friends and I, we’re going to club after party. You have to come with us.”

“I already told Josh I’d help him get undressed.” That excuse sounds dirtier every time Jason makes it. He glances over his shoulder at Josh, who is still holding court but shifting his weight from foot to foot, the discomfort clearly getting to him.

“Oh.” The glimmer of hope fades from her eyes, and she turns to storm away.

“Elena, don’t - I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” she says. “You choose boy over your friend.”

“ _He’s_ my friend too,” Jason says. “And he asked first.”

She seems to accept this. “You get Grand Prix Russia assignment, we go to the best place.” She kisses his cheeks, and she’s off with the girls who have been waiting for her.

The party is really starting to slow down, and Jason returns to Josh’s side. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“No, I’m -” Josh smiles guiltily. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, just let me get my scepter. It blows bubbles, which you totally missed while you were dancing with that Russian girl,” Josh says.

“You thought I was leaving with her?” Jason says.

“I don’t know. I don’t - oh, there’s the bubble thing,” Josh says, wobbling as he picks it up from a chair.

In the hallway, Jason decides he’s not willing to let this go. “You really thought I was leaving with Elena?”

“I can’t tell with you,” Josh says, awfully serious for a man in a tiara. “Like, you’re gay, except when you’re not.”

That’s an uncomfortably accurate description, and Jason wonders how long Josh has been quietly observing him, trying to figure him out. But Jason has put more thought into the question than Josh possibly could have. “Well, you’re mostly not a drag queen, but you’re having fun tonight.” It’s not the best analogy, because Jason has spent inordinate energy trying to amplify his flickers of interest in girls into dating them, while Josh is unlikely to quit skating for a career in drag.

“Yeah, I’m having way more fun than I expected to,” Josh says. “I’m kind of sad to let it go.”

The elevator arrives. Josh’s room is a couple of doors down from Jason’s. “I really hope Adam’s not in our room fucking a Chinese pairs skater,” Josh says. 

“No chance,” Jason says. “Adam’s definitely the one getting fucked.”

Josh literally almost falls over laughing, and Jason catches him just as the elevator doors open. “Is there anyone in the hall?” Josh asks. When Jason shakes his head, Josh holds down the Door Open button and leans into a kiss. They kiss until the elevator protests, beeping and shuddering, and they jump into the hallway before the door can close on them. “My room,” Josh says. “I’m so tall in these heels, I can hardly see you.”

“But you’re hot in those heels,” Jason says.

Josh puts his arm around Jason’s shoulder and kisses the top of his head.

Inside the room, Jason wants another kiss, but Josh says, “Please, just let me get these shoes off.” Josh yanks them off and stretches his toes, sighing. He stands and bunches his dress under his arms. Jason finds the end of the corset laces and unties them; Josh fills his lungs gleefully. Josh does have to take off the dress to pull the loosened corset over his head, and to take his bra off. He puts the dress back on once he’s free of his constraining underwear, perhaps knowing Jason wants him still in it, perhaps not ready to let it go yet. “Do you mind if I take off the wig?” Josh asks. “It kind of itches.”

“Whatever you want,” Jason says.

Josh is half girl and half boy now, his dress hanging loosely over his flat chest, his short hair sticking out in every direction, his eyes and mouth still bright and huge with makeup. He approaches Jason, and a joint in his foot or ankle cracks loudly, making him grimace goofily. He unzips Jason’s vest like it’s a corset that Jason will be just as glad to be free of. Jason shrugs off the vest, along with his t-shirt, and takes his gym shoes off with his toes. He and Josh stand for a moment, each waiting for the other to move, before Jason dives at Josh to kiss him. Josh gets aggressive with his hands, grabbing Jason’s butt and groping under the back of his shirt. Being touched, at all, anywhere, is getting Jason hard. His mind wants to move slowly, to explore, but his body has no patience.

He runs his hand up Josh’s thigh, between Josh’s skirt and tights, fulfilling the fantasy that’s been stuck in his head like a song all night. Josh shifts to make Jason’s fingers brush his cock. He’s hard, but Jason can barely feel it through what must be two pairs of tights. Jason rolls them down from the waistband, easing Josh’s cock free. “Hang on, my knees are tied up,” Josh says. As he takes his tights off, he shakes out condoms and packets of lube he’s hidden between the layers. Probably not Josh’s idea, but still clever, and it means Jason doesn’t have to search for his vest, which he flung somewhere behind him.

Josh goes for the zipper of Jason’s jeans faster than Jason would have thought possible. Josh takes Jason’s cock out and grips it, running his thumb over the shaft. Jason kisses him and pushes him away because he will come in Josh’s hand, and he doesn’t want to be done this soon. They roll onto the bed. Jason lands on his back, knees spread, Josh between them. Jason says, “I’m close enough to come on the bottom, and I’m really into that, so if you’re good with it, you know.”

Josh laughs. “How do you say this stuff out loud?”

“Free shots,” Jason says. “I have basically no filter right now.”

Josh kisses him messily before rocking back on his calves to put the condom on. It’s a beautiful juxtaposition, the silver folds of the dress draping Josh’s swollen cock. Josh rips open a lube packet, and Jason says, “Don’t prep me too much, just go for it.” Jason wants the spike of pain as Josh enters him, and he gets it. The shock is not quite enough to send him over the edge, and maybe the vodka is holding him back. Jason opens his eyes to Josh, the straps of his dress sliding down his arms to reveal his smooth chest down to his nipples. Josh is a little too gentle, and Jason pulls his hips in to take him deeper. Josh gasps, and the pleasure hits Jason hard. Jason reaches for his own cock, ready for release, but Josh taps Jason’s fingers away. He seems to really want Jason’s cock in his hand. Jason thrusts into Josh’s fist, ecstasy rising from every direction until he comes.

Josh hesitates, but Jason says, “No, please keep going,” because there is nothing like getting fucked in the afterglow, the bursts of pleasure still building while his muscles melt into the bed. Josh takes his time, the strain in his strong jaw at odds with the shimmering blue shadow on his eyelids. He comes with a soft “Oh” and a powerful jerk of his hips, then lies down with his arm across Jason’s chest. 

After a minute of his warm breath in Jason’s ear, Josh laughs.

“What’s up?” Jason says.

“You came on my dress,” Josh says. “Adam’s dress.”

“Just pay his dry cleaning bill. He’ll be fine.”

“He might be proud,” Josh says. He sits up, stretching. “But I need to take this gross thing off.” He pulls the dress over his head and then starts laughing again. “You need to wash your face, Jason. I think you have more lipstick on than I do.”

They go to the bathroom together, and Josh wipes Jason’s face with a wet washcloth, although it seems like more of an excuse to touch Jason’s face than a matter of hygiene. Jason glimpses himself in the mirror and tugs his hair out of the pigtails he forgot he was wearing. Reflexively, he reaches up to tie it back into his more familiar ponytail, but Josh says, “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you with your hair down.”

Jason runs his fingers through his hair, separating out the remnants of braids. “I can leave it loose, if you’re cool with that.” The ponytail was a compromise in the first place, but Jason has forgotten, more and more, the comfort of his frizzy waves on his shoulders.

Josh’s layers of foundation take more effort to remove than Jason’s lipstick smears. It becomes clear that soap and water won’t make a dent, so they carefully go through Adam’s supplemental drag ball makeup bag until they find a tube of heavy duty face cleanser. It works, but they destroy a washcloth, two hand towels, and a bath towel in the process. Jason feels sorry for the maid.

Jason kisses Josh’s clean lips. “I like you better like this.”

Josh smiles and looks over Jason’s shoulder into the mirror. “I was worried about that for, like, a minute,” he says. “But it’s not like - I mean, you know what I look like. You recognized me right away even with all the stuff on.”

“People didn’t recognize you?”

“They came up to me all night, asking which American I was,” Josh says. “You were pretty much the only one who sat down like, ‘Oh, hey Josh.’”

“It was less how you looked, and more, you were happy to see me. Or not even that. Relieved.” How has Jason noticed that look of relief so many times and not figured out until now that Josh has been falling for him? Well, denial and self-doubt have gotten Jason far in all his personal relationships. He doesn’t trust people to like him as much as he likes them.

“Yeah, I guess in a big group of people, it helps to have someone I’m comfortable with.” 

It’s close enough to a declaration of love that Jason needs to kiss him until neither of them can breathe. “Did you want to go back to bed?” Jason says when he finally has to come up for air. He means to sound flirtatious, but he hears the exhaustion in his own voice.

Josh seems to pick up on it. “That, or I have a wand that blows bubbles.” He bites his lip, blushing. “Only that sounds dirtier than just asking you if you want to have sex again.”

“Will you be offended if I pick the bubbles?” Jason says.

Josh loops his arms around Jason’s waist, pulling him close. “I don’t think I want to be with someone who _doesn’t_ pick the bubbles. Because, I mean, bubbles first, sex after, obviously that’s the order you’d go in.”

They blow so many bubbles at each other that they never get around to more sex, just progress from soapy giggles to lazy kisses to drifting off in each other’s arms.


End file.
